‘What should I do about the Legionary infiltrators? They still have the human we were tracking.’

‘ They are of no consequence for the moment. Bring me the weapon, Narek. We will run down these broken wretches later.’ Elias smiled with self-indulgent malice. ‘ We will make them wish they had died on the plains of Isstvan with the rest of their kin.’

‘Of course.’ Narek was about to sever their connection when Elias interrupted him.

‘ What’s it like?’ he asked.

Narek turned the spear over in his hand. It was short, the spearhead not much larger than a combat knife in terms of its length and width, with a broken shaft that was roughly half that. To look upon it, it was unremarkable, a perfect mineral fossil fashioned into a single spear-like fork. Grey, almost metallically smooth, with a sharp edge. But when Narek held it, he could feel the thrum of power contained within and see the flash of energy coursing continually along its length as the light touched it.

‘Godlike…’

Communion ended and Narek was left alone with his thoughts. It did not anger him that three of his brothers were lying dead in the street below him; to call it anger was too simple a word for his emotional state at that moment. Even the death of Haruk, who he despised personally, required response. It was more like an itch, a sense of something unfinished, an imbalance to redress.

He decided he would not return with the spear straight away. It went against orders, but it was duty that motivated Narek, not the whims of the Dark Apostle. First and foremost, he owed something to his brothers. Besides, he wanted to see the face of his enemy.

Unsheathing his gladius and putting the spear in the empty scabbard, Narek opened a vox-feed to Dagon.

‘I tire of this rooftop, brother.’

‘ What do you suggest?’

‘Beliah, Zephial, Namaah and Haruk are slain. We should honour the dead.’

‘ I’m listening.’

‘Let’s go hunting.’

Numeon looked unimpressed.

‘Is that name supposed to mean something to me?’

‘No, it isn’t,’ said Grammaticus. ‘Not to you. But what I am doing here should.’

‘And what is that, exactly?’

‘I think I know why the Word Bearers are here, and why you’re here too.’

Domadus twitched, his hand straying to a bolt pistol holstered next to his right hip before a shake of Numeon’s head stood him down.

‘Keep talking,’ said the Salamander.

‘Are we in danger here?’ Grammaticus asked. ‘Your… friendseemed agitated when he left.’

‘Immense danger, but I told you to keep talking,’ said Numeon. ‘What do you know?’

Grammaticus dragged his attention back, trying not to imagine what could present immense danger to a Space Marine, and said, ‘I think they are defiling this place. I think the Emperor came here long ago, and they are tainting that with their craft.’

Numeon came closer, until Grammaticus could smell the ash on his breath.

‘And what craftis that, John Grammaticus?’

‘Am I right?’

Numeon narrowed his eyes. ‘What craft?’

‘You know of what I speak. You want to stop them, don’t you? You are no longer Legion, that much is obvious from your battered weapons and armour. I doubt there are more than twenty of you. I saw your landers. How many can they carry? Enough for a ground war?’

‘Ninety men at capacity,’ Numeon replied, ‘but their holds were sparsely occupied when we made planetfall, you’re right about that.’

Numeon stooped to grab the scrap of parchment still wedged underneath the chair leg.

‘We are here to disrupt their efforts but have no plans to fight a war.’ He showed Grammaticus the paper. It was a propaganda poster, one denouncing the rule of the Imperium and citing Horus as the true Emperor of the galaxy. ‘Rebellion was festering here long before the Word Bearers came. We must prevent them from tainting it further.’

So Traoris was in the thrall of the enemy. But revolt was very different to willing service to the Primordial Annihilator. Grammaticus imagined secret cults, formed over years of Imperial rule, slowly chipping away at the foundations of society, and their sudden and terrifying rise when Horus defied his father’s will and embraced an old evil.

‘Rebellion is one thing,’ said Numeon. ‘Conversion to the dark power Horus now serves is another. I don’t understand it fully but I have seen some of what it can do. Turn men into monsters, and twist once noble hearts to baser instincts. Every world liberated during the Great Crusade is facing a battle for its soul. Traoris teeters on the brink of an abyss. I am here to ensure it doesn’t fall in.’

‘That seems a difficult aspiration.’

‘And yet, here we are.’

Grammaticus was emphatic. ‘I needthat spear.’

‘Even if I wanted to, there’s no going back for it now.’

‘Have you considered that you could serve a greater purpose?’

‘And help you?’

‘Yes.’

‘And why, John Grammaticus, would I do that?’

‘Because what I’m doing here concerns your primarch.’

‘What did you just say?’ Numeon’s eyes narrowed.

‘Vulkan.’

The Salamander bunched his fists. ‘I know the name of my primarch. Explain yourself.’

‘The spear I found is not a spear as such. It’s a fulgurite, a fork of lightning crystallised in rock.’

‘I also know what a fulgurite is,’ said Numeon. ‘Tell me now what this has to do with Vulkan.’

Grammaticus licked his lips. ‘Do you believe that your primarch is dead?’

Numeon did not hesitate. Something akin to hope flickered in his eyes. ‘No.’

‘He lives, Numeon. Vulkan lives.’

‘How do you know this? Where is your proof?’

‘You said you believed he was alive.’

Numeon’s patience was ebbing and he snarled, ‘There is a difference between belief and fact. Why would you say this if you have no evidence?’

‘Because it is true, and because I am giving you my word.’

‘Which is worth what?’

Grammaticus held up his hand, as if surrendering.

‘Please. You asked for the truth and I am giving it to you.’

‘You would say anything to save yourself.’

‘True, but I am not lying to you. Have your psyker scry me again if you like – you will see I don’t speak falsely.’

Numeon looked like he was considering that, when he asked, ‘What does this spear have to do with Vulkan?’

‘I honestly don’t know. It is tied to his fate somehow. I was merely tasked with coming here to retrieve it.’

That was a lie; at least part of it was, but Grammaticus knew his masters had given him all he needed to shield his mind.

Numeon frowned. ‘Tasked by whom?’

‘It’s difficult to explain.’

Domadus’s vox crackled and Grammaticus caught the murmured intonation of a voice on the other end of it.

‘Try,’ said Numeon and was about to say more when Domadus approached him.

‘Pergellen is back with Shen’ra and wants to see you.’

Numeon nodded in return. ‘Say nothingof this to anyone else.’

Domadus nodded. ‘And what of him?’ he asked, drawing a short-bladed sword from his belt. Grammaticus didn’t like the cold look in the Iron Hand’s eye. ‘I could silence him now. It would end his seditious talk. He also knows our whereabouts, some of our strength.’

‘I’m not sure yet if it is seditious…’ Numeon paused, thinking. ‘Besides, he knows nothing, not about us anyway.’

‘He would complicate our mission,’ said Domadus.

‘It’s a risk I’m prepared to take. He knows something, Domadus. I want to know it too.’ He turned towards the Raven Guard.

‘I will watch him,’ said Hriak, unfolding his arms slowly like he was unfurling his wings.

‘Domadus,’ Numeon added.

‘No one gets in or out unless it’s with your say so.’

‘No, I was going to say, don’t let Hriak hollow the human out. I want his mind intact for questioning later.’